I am like a portrait unpainted
you see nothing more than what I show
I am a sea of reds, blues, and greens
all there blossoming,
but you know of nothing more than mono-colored me.
I am fourteen shades of gray, dull, dreary gray,
all that your eyes can take in.
I am the cover of a book
bound tight and closed
you know nothing under my steel wool skin.
I am thoughts laced with acid
who burn through the soft flesh of minds
pouring out to the muddle the world that surrounds me.
I am like a festering blister
you want to understand these thoughts of mine,
to get them out
to bring them to the surface
but just as much
you wish them away.
I am as if an infection,
under the surface attacking and tearing myself apart
but on the outside perfect as can be.
But then again, what does it matter
when all you see is what I am.
I am a portrait unpainted.